1. Taking Chances


    Date: 9/22/2015, Categories: Mature, Author: Sisyphus, Rating: 13, Source: LushStories

    busy street and into the warm autumn air. For a moment they stood in front of the café, people rushing by them, and he faced her and gazed into her eyes and held both of her hands in his. “Are you sure you want to do this? I want you to come with me but only if you want to.” Though fear, doubt and nervousness swept over her, his clear blue eyes, the strength of his hands holding hers, the concern for her feelings when he said “only if you want to,” filled her with a swirl of emotions. “Yes, I want to,” she said, loving how he nodded and smiled at her answer, adoring the twinkle in his blue eyes behind his glasses and how his white hair moved in the breeze that swept by them. “I’m scared, but yes, I want to.” He held her hand as they walked the two blocks to his apartment which was over a camera store. The green door to his apartment was between the camera store and a small Vietnamese market. “It’s nothing fancy, just a small studio apartment, but it’s home for now,” he said as he opened the front door for her. She noticed a row of metal mailboxes on the wall. They went through another door and up a narrow stairway to the second floor. She followed him down the hall, her heartbeat quickening, her mind swirling. This is like a movie , she thought as she watched him take a key from his pocket and open the door. “Welcome to my kingdom.” He bowed, his arm across his stomach as he bent over, letting her enter the small but uncluttered apartment. Catherine looked around at the ...
    bookcase filled with books and a round oak table by the window with a small vase of flowers, which surprised her. She thought it unusual but nice that a man would buy flowers for himself. Then she noticed two shelves on the bookcase that had small wooden animals and walked over to it. “These are beautiful.” “Thank you, I love carving animals.” “You made these?” She glanced at him, then back at the carvings. “This dog is so amazing. I’ve never seen anything like this, or the bird. You’re really talented.” She looked intently at the dozen or so animals, some of them much larger than the others, some unpainted, but others exquisitely painted. She picked up the carving of a cat, painted black with a small white spot on its face, sitting, looking up as if watching a bird, its tail curled, and then she turned and saw Tom watching her. “I can’t believe you made these. They should be in a museum or gallery.” “A few are, but mostly they’re here while I’m waiting to be discovered. Recently my main passion is writing.” “Yes, I saw you writing in the park. What do you write?” She put the carving of the cat back on the shelf. “Ideas, philosophy, poetry, sometimes just observations and sketches.” Tom took the notebook out of his jacket pocket and thumbed through the pages. “I wrote about you when I went back to the park.” “You did? I don’t believe it. You wrote about me. What did you write?” “Are you sure you want to hear?” He opened to the page. “Of course, I’m curious. No one has ever written ...
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